How Brass Copped Wise
by AliCat713
Summary: A little oneshot from Brass' POV.  Originally posted on May 23, 2007 to Geekfiction.


**Rating:** G  
**Pairing: **GSR, of course  
**Disclaimer: ** You know if they were mine it would be the GeekSex Show, don't you?  
**Spoilers:** General S7**  
Author's note:** This was written in response to Gibby's Challenge on YTDAW. This is the first Brass POV fic I've written, so be gentle with the flails. I based as much as I could on his speaking habits on the show and on the mannerisms of my NY-native husband. All errors are mine. Originally posted on May 23, 2007 at Geekfiction on LiveJournal.

* * *

So I bet you're wondering how I knew before the actual investigators did, right?

No, no, just listen. This is good, you're gonna love this.

So I got these two friends – genius investigators, both of them. I mean, IQ's through the roof. And what they do for a living is, they connect evidence from a crime scene so they can build a case against the bad guys. You get enough evidence, you can put someone away for a _long_ time. And they're real good at it -- both of 'em, _detail-oriented_ types. So, you know, just remember that.

Now, me, I just interrogate people and arrest 'em, do a little leg-work, follow leads, do a stake-out or two. I take the information _they_ get, and I use it. What? No, man, no, I'm not comparing the jobs – we all do what we do for the same reason. In fact, I used to be genius number one's boss.

All right. So where was I. Yeah, so these two genius investigators, they've had a "thing" for each other for a while. But they're real cool about it, you know, keeping it on the "down low". I mean, she came all the way from San Fran just cause my buddy called her, moved out here, stayed for years without so much as a "How you doin'" from genius number one. Poor kid, she had it bad.

Anyway, so genius number one, he calls her up, says "I need you" and like that she's on a plane. And then she gets here and he's all googly eyes over her and he's all mopey cause he's got this health problem he thinks nobody knows about. He thinks this problem's going to come between them so even though he's mooning over this girl, he never makes a move.

I mean, I'm no CSI, but that right there – that's a _**crime**_. I oughta know, I see enough of 'em.

So instead of making a move like he should, this buddy of mine yo-yos this poor lovesick girl for like, years. I think he tried to let her go at one point, but he can't stay away, she's like his drug. There's these little looks between the two, and if they're in a room alone, he's got to touch her somehow, you know. Like, just a little touch on her arm or her back. Electricity, know what I mean? And she's dropping hints all the time, but this guy, this guy is clueless. I think she basically had to drop a brick on his head to get him to look up from his case log long enough to realize he's the reason she's still in Vegas, ya know?

What? Yeah, I'm getting to that. This part's called backstory, ok? Since you're in such a hurry, I'll skip over some stuff, get to the juicy parts.

So these two lovebirds are mooning over each other for _years_ cause they're coworkers and they think their mutual boss is gonna split up their team if they do anything about it. Then there's this one time where this kid on the team, Nick, he gets kidnapped and…

Oh, you heard about that, huh? Ok.

So Nicky gets kidnapped and buried alive. And we get him back, he's alive, he's on his way to the hospital, but my buddy – he just stands there, and he stares into Nicky's grave like he's thinkin' of jumping in. So I go over and I ask him, "Hey, Grissom, you ready to go home?"

And he looks at me like I'm made of glass, he's just looking right through me, and he says: "That could have been Sara in there. If it was Sara, we'd never have found her. I'd have _lost_ her."

So I can see the light going off in his head. Which is good, cause there sure as hell isn't any light in his eyes at this point – the guy looks like he should be laid out on a slab in Doc Robbins' cold storage. He's white as a sheet and I think he's about to puke so I say, "Hey Gil, have you ever thought about telling her? She should know about this, I think." And he looks at me, finally, only he's looking at me like I've grown boobs or something. Real weird like.

So by this time, I feel like I've watched them dance around each other long enough. So I say to Grissom, "You know, man, if you're not going to tell her… you might as well just jump in that grave now, cause it's gonna kill you eventually." I'm no Dr. Phil, but I can tell it like it is when I think somebody needs to hear it.

So we all go on our merry way for a year or so and things seem to be looking up for everybody on the team. Sara's got this spring in her step, though, so I wonder if the big guy finally spilled the beans. Who knows, though, right? This guy, even I can't read him when he's on the sly and I've known him for over a decade. Anyway, so they're flirting again – I get my news on the labrat grapevine just like everybody else – and he's back to touching her when nobody's looking.

What do you mean "how do I know he's touching her when nobody's looking?" I'm a cop -- they only _think_ nobody's looking. Geniuses, right?

So everything's fine for everybody… except me. I get shot right... _here_, under my vest – if we weren't in public I might pull up my sleeve and show you. My genius buddy has power of attorney over me and somehow he manages to make the right decisions and voila, I'm here to talk your ear off today. But while I'm in the hospital drifting in and out, I hear these two voices – and I know these voices real good – arguing about something. "Should we tell him, would he want to know, if we get him involved he's gonna take flak…" On and on. Only, at the time, I didn't really know who it was. I mean, they've got some mean painkillers in ICU, let me tell you.

Time goes by, we're working cases; only, these two lovebirds are working a **lot** of cases together. Like they can't bear to be away from each other. It's sweet, really, when you get past how disgusting they are.

Nah, I'm just kidding.

So one day they're hunched over the layout table and whispering and since I can't read lips like my buddy, I move in closer to see if I can hear what they're saying. Something about letting out a dog. Since I know there's no dog involved in the case, this really gets my heart pumping, you know? Cause these guys… if they're talking about a dog, they're talking about their **own** dog; and if they've got a dog… then they're living together. Click. There's cop instinct for you.

I'm giving myself a pat on the back about it, you know, cause this is the first lead I've got on these two in a long time. Yeah, I know, I'm talking about them like they're a case. Only, see, for me, they are. These guys act like they're _criminals_ cause they're in love. It's too funny, really.

So, being the top-notch detective that I am, I decide I'm going to tail one of them and see what's up. I pick my buddy Gil, cause like I've said before – he's the oblivious type. I follow him out to Henderson, which is right, cause that's where his townhouse is. Only, we keep driving until we're out in the suburbs. Grissom? In the suburbs? With kids and families living around him? Oh, this is _good_.

By this time, if I wasn't a two-hands-on-the-wheel type of guy, I'd be rubbing my palms together like one of those cartoon villains. There's this part of me wanting to call dispatch, you know, and say something like, "Suspect is leading me right to the scene of the crime," something cliché. Film noir Brass, right. Ha.

Hang on, I'm sorry. I get to where I can't stop laughing when I think about this.

So by this time, there's no traffic to hide the fact that I'm right behind him. Still, though, the guy doesn't seem to know I'm there. I'm a few stop signs back and taking note of the names of the streets so I can find my way back out of this maze. He makes this right turn, and for a second I think he's onto me and I've lost him. I'm getting a case of the giggles thinking how my buddy's caught me following him and how am I going to dig myself out of this one, right?

But I get up to the corner, and he's pulled into this cul de sac. Gil Grissom, entomologist and socially inept recluse, lives on a cul de sac. I still can't get my head around it. Before it closes, I see his car pulling into a garage on one of those, what do they call 'em, starter homes? Yeah, those small two-person-and-a-baby type houses. And whaddaya know, there's a certain sassy San Franciscan's hybrid hippie car parked right next to his. I guess the Mrs. gets home earlier, huh?

But here's the kicker.

I drive past their house, doing a quick cavass, take in their usual gravel-filled Vegas "lawn," take in the plants on the front porch, the fact that there's a dog bed there… and I pull around to their mailbox. And right there, on the side of the mailbox, is "Sidle/Grissom". Just like that: "Sidle/Grissom."

These two brainiacs are pulling off the snow job of the century at work, I mean, nobody but me has copped wise to them, and there on their **mailbox** is "_Sidle/Grissom_."

Couple of geniuses, am I right?


End file.
